Daddy's Girl
by Cornerofmadness
Summary: Martin reflects on the interviews with his children.


**Title ** \- Daddy's Girl

**Disclaimer ** \- As always, I own nothing.

**Timeline ** – set immediately after _Q & A_

**Author's Note** –This was written for cozy_coffee at comment_fic for the prompt: Any, any evil person, the devil's backbone

XXX

It was hard to say what the worst part of solitary confinement was. Martin liked - needed if his therapist was to be believed - having someone to talk to, even if was mostly just his sitters. David wasn't so bad. They'd been together for a long time, after all. He didn't want to be alone with his thoughts at the moment. It was all his fault, of course, but Tevin could have left his name out of it. It might have taken them longer to figure it out that he'd been behind Tevin's shenanigans.

He shifted on the bed, trying to get comfortable. They had him less locked down than in his usual room because where could he go from here? There was no one to interact with except for the luckless sot who had to bring him meals. No, this wasn't what hurt the worse. Maybe it was the pervasive concern that his one-time apprentice might target his children. Malcolm would try to stop him and there was no way his apprentice would allow that.

Martin would argue that he wasn't a psychopath. He loved his children after all. His therapist would say it wasn't love; it was his need to possess them, but he disagreed. By the time he knew his apprentice was back, it had been too late to undo what he'd started with Tevin. Now he was missing out on something special with his son. Malcolm _needed_ him and wasn't that what he always wanted? If his apprentice got to Malcolm before his son caught him, Martin wouldn't forgive himself.

Jessica herself could be a target. When he had seen her for the first time in decades the other day, she had been more beautiful than he expected her to be after what he knew she had to have gone through. Sexual satisfaction with her had mostly been good, great even. That had not been the root of his murders. Seeing her again reminded Martin of that. His apprentice knew Jessica and had no doubt avoided her out of respect for Martin but if it lured Malcolm into a position of vulnerability, he'd sacrifice Jessica.

Of course, his apprentice could just as easily get his hands on Ainsley. She was lovely, a beautiful and very public target. She would love to cover the story of another serial killer. Martin knew that instinctively. She could put herself right in the crosshairs. Martin licked his lips, a hint of worry eating at him with nothing else to distract him from it in this setting.

If he thought about it, Ainsley might be the worst part of all of this. Oh, how he had underestimated his little girl. From the beginning, he had put all his energy into Malcolm. A boy needed his father and a girl her mother. Maybe that was old fashioned of him, but he had felt it deeply. That camping trip was meant to be the true bonding exercise, where he taught his son something important. His son would be just like him, but Malcolm had been too afraid, a little coward really, disappointing him. Drugging him afterward had been the only thing he could have done. He would try against later but later never came.

Maybe if he had been seeing his children as they were, Martin would have waited for Ainsley to grow up and try with her. The whole interview with her had been eye-opening. Martin stretched out on the cot, thinking back on the experience. He shut his eyes, trying to picture it again. It had started boringly enough, Ainsley trying to be the hard-hitting investigative journalist and him deflecting every question so he'd look good. Malcolm's interruption had been a relief, especially when he started getting angry at Martin. He'd purposely riled up his son. He needed to bring out the backbone in Malcolm, needed to toughen him up.

And then out came that picture of the knife. The expression on Malcolm's face when Martin informed him it was his own blade had been both delicious and heart breaking. He did feel sorry for his son, watching the cracks forming but he couldn't just let Malcolm off easy. It had been a long time since he could twist the blade metaphorically and even longer physically. If he had wanted to, he could have shattered Malcolm like antique china, which is why he shut Malcolm down because the evil part of him enjoyed all that pain. The part that loved his son had been moved by Malcolm's near break down.

The surprise was how Ainsley had picked up on her brother's distress, pulling him out of the room. Martin had thought it was sisterly concern, that she was shielding Malcolm from him. When she came back to continue the interview, he had been ill prepared to watch his daughter eviscerate Malcolm. Ainsley had ripped him open and left him bleeding, expertly manipulating both Malcolm and himself. He had been both disquieted and excited to see her expose the chinks in Malcolm's armor. She gave him all the tools he'd need to destroy Malcolm if he had to.

Part of him felt pity for Malcolm as Ainsley manipulated them both, like a chiropractor working the devil's backbone. Malcolm diminished with each new revelation Ainsley handed Martin. The pain her words caused him swam in his wet eyes and if she cared, it was less of a concern to Ainsley than getting her story. Of course, she'd blame him for Malcolm's mental vagrancies when she should have been blaming her brother's fear and weakness. She had done it to piss Martin off and she had done it beautifully, playing him. He was proud of her and resentful at the same time. She had made him lose control and it had been years since that happened.

He would remember that. He would not make the mistake of underestimating his daughter again. He always told Malcolm they were the same. Maybe he'd been wrong. It was Ainsley who was the chip off the old block. Martin smiled in the darkness. Daddy's Little Girl.


End file.
